


More Than Magic

by Melibe



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bickering, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fish, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Spells & Enchantments, Technobabble, Weddings, and the cats so many cats I just love Morwen's cats, burnt souffles, but more like magicbabble, even witches' cats don't live forever, none of this nonsense please, riding broomsticks, sartorial disagreements, they're both nerds okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: Take one witch. Add one magician. Now place them in the midst of an unraveling kingdom, surrounded by dragons, giants, ogres and wizards... Is it any wonder Morwen and Telemain can't seem to figure out their relationship? If only human feelings were as straightforward as magic spells!
Relationships: Morwen/Telemain
Comments: 53
Kudos: 27





	1. In Which Morwen and Telemain Dance as Little as Possible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Euny_Sloane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euny_Sloane/gifts).



> with gratitude to Euny for all the encouragement and support, especially for saying "NEEED" when I mentioned my old Enchanted Forest fic--I hope you enjoy this ridiculousness!

"Shall we, er, dance?"

Morwen looked at her old friend in surprise. "Why, Telemain, I thought you'd never ask." As far back as she could recall, neither of them had much cared for dancing.

"I probably wouldn't have, except Willin kept badgering me," he confessed, as they linked hands and walked out to join the elves, dwarfs, princesses, and even a couple of very careful dragons kicking up their heels in the center of Fire-Flower Meadow. "You have no idea how persistent that little elf can be."

"I have some idea," she responded dryly. In fact, her first and only dance thus far had been with the elderly Willin, who moved with impressive agility despite his age. "At least he didn't sulk too much over my idea of formal attire."

"I'll admit, it would be easier to find your waist if you were wearing a dress," said Telemain, his left hand searching for a place to rest among the loose folds of her black robe.

Though it was more of a fumble than a caress, Morwen found herself strangely affected by his touch, which may have caused the extra tartness in her response. "There are plenty of princesses with perfect waists around, after you've satisfied Willin by dancing with me."

Telemain frowned. "Did I offend you? I didn't mean to. I appreciate the practicality of your robes, although I do think you should consider subdivisions of the sleeves."

He had settled on sliding his hand around to the small of her back, which brought them close enough that Morwen had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "You mean like all the pockets on this ridiculous vest of yours? I don't see much advantage, since it seems you can never remember which pocket has the thing you want. You spend at least as much time rummaging for spell components as I do."

"I do not." Telemain turned them in an awkward circle. "And I won't let your comment about princesses go unanswered, either. You ought to know I haven't the least interest in dancing with anyone else."

"It would appear you haven't the least interest in dancing, even with me," replied Morwen, hiding her pleasure. "You could at least _try_ to keep up with the beat."

"I am well-versed in the methodologies of seventeen different magical systems, and my research has left no time for dancing lessons," Telemain huffed. "If you want someone with fancy footwork, go back to Willin."

Morwen lifted an eyebrow. "He's more of a match for my height, is that what you mean?"

"That's not what—I wouldn't—" Color rose in Telemain's cheeks when she laughed. "Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

"Of course not; you do it so well by yourself." Then she squeezed his hand. "You know I appreciate your magical training more than I would any fancy footwork."

Telemain smiled, then stumbled and nearly lost his balance. Morwen looked down to see a brown furball cruising around her partner's feet. "Fiddlesticks! What are you doing?"

The cat gazed up at her, wide-eyed. "Trouble said that Telemain's boots smelled like fish. I thought I should come and see if he accidentally got a fish in one. I could get it out for him."

"I see," said Morwen grimly. "Well, Telemain does not have any fish in his boots, and I'd like to speak to you both when we get home."

Fiddlesticks looked disappointed. "I'll go back to sniffing the wedding gifts, then. Maybe some of _them_ have fish."

"You do that," Morwen said, and looked up at Telemain. "I'm sorry."

The magician shrugged. "It's all right. Having one's boots stalked by a cat is an excellent excuse for poor dancing."

Morwen smiled. "I won't be too hard on him, then. Let's get something to drink. I'm sure Willin is placated by now."

They escaped to the tables at one end of the meadow, where Telemain filled two cups from an enormous punch bowl, and handed one to Morwen. Then they sat on an empty bench.

Morwen touched her cup to his. "Here's to Cimorene and Mendanbar."

"Long may they reign," Telemain answered solemnly, and they both drank. He nodded in approval. "This is good stuff."

"I prefer Morwen's cider," said a deep voice behind them.

Telemain jumped; Morwen smiled. "Thank you, Kazul. That's very kind."

"You make cider?" asked Telemain.

"The term is press, and the answer is yes," said Morwen. "Are you surprised?"

"Not really." Telemain looked at her thoughtfully. "I remember you were always setting dough to rise while we studied, or collecting herbs for spells in one basket and stews in another. It makes sense that you would have expanded your culinary operations. I suppose you grow the apples yourself?"

"Of course." Morwen was glad that Kazul had brought it up. "You should come over to see the orchard, and taste the cider."

"I'd love to."

An enormous, disappointed dragon head settled on the moss in front of the two humans. "Does that mean you didn't bring any tonight?"

Morwen shook her head. "I'm sorry. Cimorene and I briefly discussed trying to seed Ballimore's cauldron with one of my homemade batches, so that it could produce enough for all the guests, but we decided there wasn't time to fuss over something so experimental."

"Why didn't you mention it to me?" Telemain looked almost hurt. "I've got an entire treatise on seeding magical items with external sources in my library. I won't say that it's trivial, but with the proper application of—"

"If you're talking about Gallagher's thesis, I've got a copy too," Morwen cut him off. "All his applications are purely theoretical, and I didn't mention it to you because, as I said, we decided there wasn't time. Besides, you were busy with the weather."

Kazul licked her lips. "If you're interested in experimenting after the wedding, I can speak to Ballimore about it. Council meetings would be infinitely more bearable with a cauldron of cider as refreshment."

"I can imagine," said Morwen. She glanced at Telemain and saw a faraway cast to his eyes that meant he was wondering which of Gallagher's five categories would best fit the cauldron, so she added quickly, "In fact, we had already thought of paying you a visit. While we were studying all those wizard staffs, Telemain got an idea for a prophylactic allergy treatment."

"A what?" Kazul tilted her head forward, looking both interested and amused. "This magician of yours is useful, Morwen, but mind you don't start talking like him."

She blinked at Kazul, momentarily at a loss for words. She didn't dare look at Telemain. Solitary and independent as he was, she didn't imagine that he would appreciate being referred to as anyone's magician other than his own. But maybe he hadn't heard Kazul.

From behind one of the dragon's spines, Jasper raised his head and blinked back at her. "Kazul, I think you've flustered Morwen. I didn't know it was possible."

"I am not flustered, merely tired," Morwen told the cat sternly.

"If you say so." He resettled himself on Kazul's back.

The dragon looked like she was trying not to laugh, but all she said was, "In any case, you're both welcome in the Mountains of Morning. I expect Roxim will be especially glad to try out this anti-allergy spell, if it works."

"We'll see what we can do," said Morwen. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She really _was_ tired.

Telemain, who must have been lost in thought about the cauldron or the allergy treatment or both, came back to the moment and put his arm around Morwen. "One must expect dancing till dawn at a royal wedding, but there's no reason you can't take a rest."

She leaned gratefully against his shoulder. "I'm more accustomed to getting up with the sunrise than going to bed with it."

"Aren't witches supposed to be nocturnal creatures?" he asked, his voice almost teasing.

"Aren't dragons supposed to carry off princesses, not attend their weddings as matron-of-honor?" She waved a hand at Kazul. "Anyway, I'd like to see _you_ sleep in, with nine hungry cats yowling for breakfast."

"Would you?" said Telemain, so quietly that only Morwen heard it. "Perhaps one day I'll try."


	2. In Which Magic is Investigated and a Dragon is Corrected

Although Morwen's invitation to visit often returned to his mind, Telemain found himself so busy that several months slipped past without taking her up on it. Then he wanted to bring a gift, and that took another month. When at last it was finished to his exacting standards, he packaged it up and transported himself to the castle to ask for directions. There, Mendanbar offered to simply send him to Morwen's doorstep by the king's magic. After a moment's thought, Telemain had to admit that was the best plan, considering the large stack of books Cimorene had also asked him to carry.

Now he stood facing a gray cottage with a red roof. It was small, neat, and practical, just like the woman who lived inside. It was also covered with cats—again, not unlike her. He recognized only one of them, the large cream-and-silver cat who'd walked through the wizards' barrier when they rescued Kazul, but he couldn't remember its name. Anyway, it was asleep.

In fact, only three of the cats were awake. They all blinked at Telemain in unison, so he addressed them. "Er, hello. Is Morwen at home? I have some things for her."

The calico on the porch railing and the ginger in the windowsill ignored him and turned to each other, offering the impression of a conversation that would not have been flattering to overhear. Just as Telemain was about to walk up and knock on the door himself (although he was not sure how to manage it, with a package under one arm and a stack of books under the other), the third cat, a small tortoiseshell, gave a prim little meow and slipped inside.

While he waited to see what would come of that, Telemain read and re-read the sign over the door and tried to ignore the muttering of the other two cats. When Morwen emerged onto the porch a few minutes later, he completely forgot to greet her. "None of _which_ nonsense?"

"Mrowow," opined the calico.

"You're right," Morwen told it. "Telemain is capable of many kinds of nonsense. Such as arriving unannounced with a large, peculiar-shaped package."

"There was no option to announce myself," objected Telemain. "I suppose I could have asked Mendanbar to go first and tell you I was coming, instead of just sending me here, but that would be far more nonsensical. Anyway, this will take care of the problem." He hefted the package with a smile. "The one in the castle is working _exactly_ to specifications."

The cat meowed again, and Morwen gave it a stern look over her glasses. "He _is_ exasperating, but he's an old friend and a guest. You could be a little more polite." She turned to Telemain. "Come in, have some cider, and tell me what on earth you're talking about."

Inside, the first flat surface Telemain saw was the large table in the middle of the room. As he set down the package, Morwen took the stack of books from under his other arm. "These must be from Cimorene," she said. "I hope she enjoyed them."

"She did, and sent apologies for not returning them herself. She and Mendanbar have been rather tied up with the Frost Giant negotiation."

"Of course. I'm glad they have Dobbilan to consult with this year." She moved toward a door on the far side of the room. "I'll put these in the library, then we can sit down."

Telemain watched Morwen step into a large, well-lit library that looked even better organized than his own. The rows of books on their dark-stained shelves captivated him, and he was about to follow her in when he noticed the enchantment on the door itself.

"Six separate rooms through the same door, and space for more," he said admiringly, when she came back through and shut it. "Did you enchant it yourself?"

"Six rooms and the garden," Morwen corrected with a smile. "Yes and no. All the cats worked with me on the initial enchantment, though I only need a couple of them when I add a new room."

Telemain considered the cats that were now visible. The calico and the ginger had stayed on the porch, but the little tortoiseshell sat on the trunk, washing her face, and a fluffy white Persian was curled up beside her. One window was occupied by the fat brown cat who'd tripped Telemain while dancing at the King's wedding. And a long, lean gray tomcat somehow managed to cover two of the three chairs in the room. "They seem extremely helpful," he observed.

"They are," said Morwen, bringing a jug and two mugs to the table. "And they know it, unfortunately. Trouble, you may have _one_ chair, or you may excuse yourself."

The tomcat gave Telemain an appraising look, then slid carelessly to the floor and stalked over to sprawl in front of the oven. "Trouble," repeated Telemain, taking one of the vacated chairs. "I suppose I'd better learn all their names."

"There's plenty of time," said Morwen with a shrug, but Telemain thought she looked pleased. She sat next to him and filled the mugs. "Try the cider."

He did. It was remarkably good, and he said so.

"Thank you," she said. "I was picking apples for the next batch when you arrived, or I would have come to the door sooner. All right. What is this strange object you've brought?"

"Open it," said Telemain eagerly.

Morwen pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and peeled back the paper. She stared fixedly at the package's contents for a minute, then said, "Since I'm not widely known for vanity, shall I presume this is a _magic_ mirror?"

"State-of-the-art. I've been working on communication enchantments for years, and this one operates with unprecedented speed and efficiency. It's distance-independent and backwards-compatible. You can even contact Kazul on the King's Crystal."

"Thank you, Telemain," she said, still staring at the mirror. "That's very thoughtful."

"Would you like to test it?" he asked.

"Later." Morwen rewrapped the paper and moved the package to the trunk, where two cats immediately began sniffing it. Then she returned to the table and gave Telemain a warm smile. "The person I most want to talk to now is already right here."

This did a great deal to assuage Telemain's disappointment at not being able to show off his mirror enchantment. "You've got a leaf in your hair," he said, and reached over to remove it. "I would have thought that your trichological spell might prevent such occurrences."

"I guess not." Her cheeks looked slightly red. "But I imagine I could fix that."

"Absolutely," said Telemain, and they spent a very enjoyable half-hour drinking cider and dissecting the spell that Morwen used to keep her hair up, deciding what alterations would best avert the accumulation of accidental debris.

When there wasn't any cider left, Morwen looked at him speculatively. "We were planning a trip to the mountains, weren't we?"

Telemain nodded. "To visit Kazul and Ballimore. When would you like to go?"

"How about right now?"

"Now?" Telemain blinked.

Morwen stood and brought the dishes to the sink. "It's less than an hour's ride to Kazul's cave from here, and Flat Top Mountain isn't much further. And it'll be pretty clear from a preliminary test whether the prophylactic is going to work, won't it?"

"Well, yes. And we don't have everything we need for the cauldron seeding—"

"But it doesn't matter, because we need to assess the cauldron first, anyway," finished Morwen.

Telemain smiled. When they were children, he and Morwen had practiced (and botched) a great deal of magic together. Even in failure, it had always been gratifying to work with her. "Then let's go."

Morwen disappeared into her study to gather a few things, then reemerged, added two bottles of cider to her sleeves, and opened the enchanted door to the garden. "Visiting the dragons always reminds me that I need to replicate Cimorene's fireproofing spell," she commented. "This time I think I'll ask Kazul if her royal treasure chambers have any powdered hens' teeth."

"It's getting to be a full trip," said Telemain, though he had no objection to spending the extra time in Morwen's company. "Maybe we should make a list."

Morwen pulled a slip of paper out of one sleeve, and showed it to him. There in the witch's impeccable script he read:

_1\. Discuss allergy prophylactic with Kazul/Roxim_

_2\. Inquire about powdered hens' teeth_

_3\. Assess Cauldron of Plenty for seeding possibility_

Telemain chuckled. "I should have known."

Morwen tucked the paper away and lifted her broom from beside the door. "Shall we ride?"

"Will it hold us both?" asked Telemain, casting a dubious eye over the conveyance.

"Would I have invited you on if it wouldn't?" Morwen retorted. She set the broom in the air at chair height and sat on it. Then she patted a space behind her, looking expectantly at Telemain.

He took a deep breath and swung one leg over the hovering broom. Morwen frowned at him. "A broom is not a horse, Telemain."

He frowned back at her. "I understand you have to sit sidesaddle, but I'm not wearing a robe."

"Just because you _can_ sit astride doesn't mean it's a good idea. You'll be far more comfortable if you sit like I do."

"I'll be fine," said Telemain firmly. He felt much more secure if he could grip the broom with his legs. Besides, men just didn't ride sidesaddle.

"Suit yourself," said Morwen with a sigh. She tapped the broom, and it lifted off the porch, up through the trees, and away over the top of the Enchanted Forest. The verdant tops of trees streaked away beneath them as they soared east, then gave way to the rocky foothills of the Mountains of Morning.

At first Telemain found the scenery too enthralling to notice his own comfort, but soon he began to wish he were perched on anything wider than a broomstick. He shifted from side to side. "Don't squirm," said Morwen without turning around, the wind carrying her crisp words back to Telemain. He gritted his teeth and strained his eyes to see the dragon caves. It felt like they had been riding for hours by the time the broom finally swooped down on a smooth landing strip lined with boulders.

Telemain couldn't dismount fast enough. As he winced and adjusted his clothes, Morwen just shook her head, stepped forward and rapped on the rock next to a large cave entrance.

"It's Morwen and Telemain!" she called into the shadows. A somewhat hoarse voice called back, "Come in!"

Morwen led the way through a dim entry tunnel into a wide receiving cave, lit by shafts of sunlight slanting through the rocks above. Several stone tables, large enough for dragons to gather around, dotted the room. An iron crown sat on one of them, glowing faintly, and Telemain stepped closer to take a look. Morwen put a hand on his arm. "Don't touch it."

"Why not?" He looked at her, puzzled. "There's no evidence of a contact enchant—"

"Because it's hot," explained Kazul, as she slithered into the cave from a back entrance. She stretched out two claws to pick up the crown, looking at it with distaste. "I'm afraid I breathed rather a lot of fire at it today." She turned to Morwen. "It's good to see you, but I don't have time to chat just now. Meetings, conferences, councils! Ugh!"

A faint smell of brimstone oozed from the dragon's nostrils. Morwen nodded. "That's quite all right. I know it's risky to drop in on the King of the Dragons without an appointment. I'm just glad you were in, so I could give you this." She pulled a bottle of cider from her sleeve and handed it to Kazul, who sighed gratefully. "And if you know a dragon who might be available, Telemain and I would like to try a preliminary test for the anti-allergy spell."

"Oh yes, I mentioned your magician's idea to Roxim a while back, and he said he'd be glad to work with you. He's most likely home now. Do you remember where his cave is?"

"Yes, thank you," said Morwen. Then she folded her arms and stared up at the dragon as if it were one of her cats. "Kazul, Telemain is not _my_ magician. We're old friends, that's all, and we might occasionally work together—if he can find the time, between trying to scorch his fingers and fall off brooms."

Kazul glanced between Morwen and Telemain, who could think of nothing to say and knew his face was probably red. Then she let out a wide, toothy chortle. "Of course, Morwen. I'm sorry to have implied otherwise. I have to go meet with some committee or other, but good luck with the allergy spell!"

The dragon slid back into the depths of the mountains with the crown dangling from her claws and the cider tucked under her arm.

"She doesn't sound sorry," said Telemain, looking at Morwen.

"No," agreed Morwen, not looking at Telemain. "For the most part, dragons only apologize when they think it's funny. Well, I'm glad she got a laugh—she needed one."

They walked to Roxim's cave in silence. Telemain felt oddly hurt by Morwen's determination not to let Kazul call him "her" magician. He wondered whether she had a particular reason why she wouldn't want to be associated with him too strongly. He was just thinking he might ask when Morwen stopped walking and called a greeting into a cavern entrance.

Roxim answered at once, stretching his gray-green head out to look at them. "Morwen, is it? Nice to see you again. Who's your friend?"

"This is Telemain, a magician," Morwen said. "He's the one with the idea for the anti-allergy spell Kazul told you about. We'd like to try a few tests, if this is a good time for you."

"Fine, fine. Come on in." As they entered the cave, Roxim eyed Telemain curiously. "What's the matter with him—do all magicians walk like that?"

"Only the ones who are also stubborn idiots," Morwen informed him. "Telemain was determined to ignore my advice about riding broomsticks."

"Shouldn't do that, my boy," said Roxim, leaning back on a large boulder. "Never met a witch who gave bad advice."

Telemain scowled. "Yes, well, let's get on with the study. Dragon Roxim, do you have a cave with better light than this one?"

"Yes, I suppose so. The first treasure room has that lovely skylight. Not that I can ever find anything when I want it, light or no . . ." Roxim moved off through the tunnels, muttering.

As Morwen started to follow, Telemain put his hand on her shoulder and said quietly, "Let me see that list again."

She handed it to him, and he made a great show of examining it. "Hmm. You didn't put 'humiliate Telemain at every opportunity' on here."

"That's because I knew I wouldn't forget." Morwen put the paper away and patted Telemain's arm. "Come, the dragon awaits."

As Roxim settled down on a spectacularly diverse pile of coins, armor, and jewelry, much of it battered or broken, Telemain and Morwen set up for their first test. Morwen sat near the dragon's head and placed a small clear glass under his nose, while Telemain paced around the perimeter.

"So what's the idea here?" asked Roxim with a yawn.

Telemain spoke rapidly as he rounded the tip of the dragon's tail. "This treatment concept is driven by my suspicion that the conditional rhinitis arises, not directly from absorptive properties of wizard staffs, but from a hypersensitive reaction—"

"Telemain, let me." Morwen shook her head and addressed Roxim. "He thinks that when a wizard's staff tries to absorb magic from a dragon, your magic resists so forcefully that it makes your body overreact. That's what creates the allergy attack. So we might be able to develop a sort of magic-calming spell that you can activate whenever you get close to a wizard."

"But then his blasted staff would absorb my magic!"

"Not at all. Your magic would still resist absorption, it just wouldn't trigger the overreaction. And we're not going to cast any kind of spell right now, so don't worry. We're just trying to map your internal magic to see whether we can design the spell."

This satisfied Roxim. He shuffled around on the pile, sighed deeply, and closed his eyes. Telemain spent the next ten minutes circling the dragon, then circling him again backwards, all the time holding by a chain a silver sphere that contained a dozen smaller spinning spheres. Morwen kept her eyes on the patterns of mist the dragon's breath produced on her glass.

At last Telemain stopped next to her and let out a frustrated sigh. "Are your conclusions as definitively disappointing as my own?"

"I can't answer that without more information," said Morwen calmly. "But I would say that this looks like it's not going to work at all."

"Of course I've read all about the resistance of dragons to most types of enchantment." Telemain sank down glumly onto a wooden chest covered with gold filigree. "But I thought a prophylactic treatment for hypersensitivity within the dragon itself might be exempt."

"Apparently not." Morwen picked up the glass, polished it with a fold of her robe, and tucked it away in her sleeve. She touched Telemain's hand. "It was worth checking."

They looked at Roxim. The heaps of disorganized treasure must have been comfortable. He was snoring. "I hate to wake him up just to tell him it won't work," said Morwen.

"Maybe we should leave a note," suggested Telemain. As Morwen fished out a blank paper and began to write, he let his thoughts wander over everything else he'd learned about wizards and their staffs, and began to feel more cheerful. "At least the melting spell is taking shape."

"That will be even more useful than the allergy treatment would have been," Morwen assured him. She looked around at the chaos as she stuck her note on Roxim's claw. "Cimorene's right; Roxim could use a good princess. I'll have to keep an eye out for one. Look at this mess—there could be a jar of powdered hens' teeth here, but who would ever know?"

"You forgot to ask Kazul about that," noted Telemain with a certain satisfaction.

Morwen shook her head. "No, I decided to skip it when I saw how busy she was. I'm still gathering the rest of the ingredients anyway."

They walked back out to the landing strip, and Morwen set her broom in the air. "Try sidesaddle this time," she said.

"I'll meet you there," Telemain said firmly, lifting his left hand so she could see his rings. "A giants' castle shouldn't be too hard to find."

"All right," said Morwen, and she zipped away on her broom before he had even settled on the parameters of the transportation. He ended up a bit farther from the castle than he intended, and had to walk quickly to arrive at the front gate just as Morwen landed.

"Good timing," she said. Telemain couldn't tell if she was joking. As he paused to catch his breath, she knocked on the gate.

The gate creaked open by itself, and a voice drifted out to greet them. "Morwen, dear! Come in. Did you bring any cats? They're so darling when they curl up in my hand."

They crossed the courtyard and entered the open doors to the giants' hall, where Ballimore waited to greet them with a giant smile. "I didn't bring any of the cats today," Morwen told her. "But I did bring Telemain, who has many qualities in common with cats. Such as an insatiable curiosity, and a refusal to explain anything so it make sense."

Ballimore leaned down to peer at Telemain. "Will he curl up in my hand, though?" she asked, stretching it out.

"Er," said Telemain. "I was hoping to take a look at your cauldron, actually."

"Of course, of course! Kazul told me all about you. I was just having a little fun." The giantess beamed at him, then turned to an enormous cupboard and unfastened its great locks. After rolling the Cauldron of Plenty out into the middle of the floor, she knelt down and whispered to Morwen, "He does look cozy to curl up with, though. I like a nice beard on a man, don't you?"

Telemain decided that it would probably be best to focus his attention on the magical cauldron and ignore the subsequent conversation between the two women. He twisted the silver ring on his right forefinger and touched it to the cold iron. It sparked, which was an encouraging sign. Then he pulled a device from a pouch on his belt and settled down on the floor to take readings.

"Ah," he said, just as Morwen came to sit beside him.

"What's the verdict?" she asked.

"Category five. The trickiest one, of course. But at least we know where to start."

She sighed. "That's something, anyway."

They spent a few more minutes examining the cauldron, but that was really all they needed to know. Since it was already out, Ballimore insisted on using the cauldron to feed them, which made Telemain realize how hungry he was. The giantess sat and chatted amiably while they ate, though she was waiting to have dinner with Dobbilan when he got home.

The shadows were growing long as they thanked Ballimore and stepped out of the castle. In front of the gates, they stood together quietly, struggling to say good-bye. At least, Telemain knew he was struggling. As usual, it was difficult to tell just what Morwen was thinking, behind her spectacles and her brisk smile. But it did seem that her smile was a little more wistful this evening, and she certainly wasn't jumping onto her broom in any great hurry.

"You can call me anytime," he said. "Really. The parameters of the mirror enchantment—"

"You sound awfully pleased with your work there, Telemain." Morwen tilted her head to the side. "You don't need to impress me, you know."

His face felt hot. "That's not what I meant."

"I think I know what you meant." She took a step closer and wrapped one arm around him, the other still holding her broom. Her head rested briefly on his shoulder, and Telemain breathed in the clean soapy smell of her hair as he hugged her back. She sighed, so softly that he barely heard it, then stepped back and mounted her broom.

"Good-bye, Telemain."

He smiled. "Till next time, Morwen."


	3. In Which They Disenchant a Fish

"When you get a chance, Morwen, could you come down to the stream?"

Morwen looked up from her book to see Jasmine by the back door, washing one shoulder in a nonchalant sort of way. Morwen frowned. She had a souffle in the oven. "How urgent is it?"

"It's just a fish we thought you should see. Fiddlesticks wants to eat it, but Murgatroyd won't let him because it says it's an enchanted princess."

"Ah." Morwen found a bookmark and addressed the calico cat on the windowsill. "Keep an eye on the oven, will you, Scorn?"

"No problem," she answered sarcastically. "I'll just puff the souffle back up again if it collapses."

Taking that as assurance for the safety of the cottage, if not the souffle, Morwen selected a large glass mixing bowl from the kitchen supplies and tucked it under one arm. She nodded to Jasmine. "Let's go."

As they walked through the garden and down the hill of catnip, Morwen shook her head over the changes the last few years had brought to the Enchanted Forest. She kept careful track of Daystar's birthdays, although she couldn't see the young prince or send him gifts, and just last month he had turned five. She missed him, although she'd only known him for the first two months of his life, and she missed Cimorene and Mendanbar as her own dear friends.

But more disturbing was the way the forest itself seemed to miss them. To be sure, there was nothing like the chaos she remembered after the death of Mendanbar's father—after all, the King was still alive—but more and more little things kept going wrong.

Like the stream. It had always been a relatively ordinary one, the kind that wet your feet when you stepped in it and flowed in the same direction every day, and if it sometimes sang out-of-tune lullabies as it burbled over the stones, well, that was just the Enchanted Forest for you. But in the past few years, it had started acting up. Morwen knelt on the bank to see what it had done this time.

Murgatroyd stood at the edge of the stream, holding a minnow under one paw. Fiddlesticks sat next to them, leaning so close his whiskers brushed the water.

"Please let me go!" wailed the minnow. "Cats like to play with their food, right? So if you'll just give me a sporting chance—"

"Murgatroyd, you're terrifying her," said Morwen.

He looked up. "I'm just keeping her safe from Fiddlesticks," he pointed out.

Morwen had to admit that this was true, even if Murgatroyd might also have been enjoying the fish's discomfort a little too much. She filled the glass bowl with stream water and held it near the minnow. "Come in here, and I'll see if I can help you."

Murgatroyd lifted his paw and the minnow swam in. Morwen set the bowl on the mossy bank. "So. Enchanted princess?"

"Well, yes," said the fish, twisting in a nervous circle. "Not that it's much of a kingdom. In fact, Father says it's the smallest kingdom east of the mountains, and probably west of them too. Our family mostly works on the farms with everyone else. But our house has a couple of turrets and I've got a crown for holidays." She paused. "I wore the crown into the forest, so I think I've still got it."

"We can find out, if you'd like to be disenchanted," said Morwen.

"Do I have to wait a hundred years, or find someone very particular to kiss?"

"I don't think so." Morwen stood and picked up the bowl, nodding to the cats, and they all headed back up the hill. "The stream's gotten unpredictable since the King disappeared, so I can't say for certain, but this smells like a garden variety transformation. Let's get a few things from the garden."

After passing through the gate, Morwen collected a selection of herbs with her free hand, then spoke firmly to the back door. It opened, and Morwen, the fish, and the cats all went inside.

"Are you a witch?" asked the fish.

"What tipped you off?" asked Scorn, who sat in front of the oven with her paws tucked underneath her and her eyes half-closed. "The magic garden? The broomstick? The cats?"

Morwen ignored her, setting the bowl on the floor. "Yes. My name is Morwen. What's yours?"

"I'm Laura. Princess Laura, I guess."

"That's an unusual name for a princess." Morwen began to shred herbs and arrange them in concentric rings around the fishbowl.

"An awful name for a princess, you mean. But I'm awful at _being_ a princess." The minnow shuffled her fins. "I can chop wood and bake bread and plow a field, but I don't know the first thing about dancing or embroidery or etiquette. Mother keeps saying maybe we'll have enough money to hire a tutor next year."

"She's quite the most useful princess I've ever heard of," commented Aunt Ophelia.

"Except for Cimorene," Murgatroyd pointed out.

"Cimorene is a queen now," sniffed Ophelia.

"You do seem to have a remarkably practical array of skills," said Morwen, before the cats could completely sidetrack the conversation. "Why did you go haring off into the Enchanted Forest?"

"Well." The fish paused, then plunged ahead. "It's a very small kingdom, like I said. And the crops haven't been very good for a while, and Father had to take out a loan to keep the farms in seed, and the, um, the creditor is getting anxious to be repaid, and so—I thought maybe I could find some treasure in here."

Morwen sighed as she closed the curtains, dimming the light in the room. "That's a reasonably altruistic reason to hunt treasure, but it's not as secure as being sent on a quest. Let's start by getting you human again, then we can consider the rest of your situation. Scorn, Murgatroyd, if you please?"

"You mean I can stop watching the souffle?" said Scorn. The two cats stood at opposite sides of the bowl, then began to pace along the ring of herbs.

"Should I do anything?" the fish asked nervously.

"Be quiet," said Morwen. She lit a sprig of dried rosemary as she recited:

 _L_ _ight_ _streams_ _in_

_As rosemary burns_

_Scales to skin_

_True form returns._

Morwen dropped the burning herbs into the water as the cats meowed. She pulled back the curtains, and there was a silent puff of moist, fragrant air. A girl was sitting awkwardly in the glass bowl. Mostly a girl. She did, in fact, have a small gold crown tangled in her brown curls, but she also had a fish tail rather than legs sticking out of her skirt.

"That's a new one," commented Scorn. "You've created a mermaid."

"Is it edible?" inquired Fiddlesticks.

Princess Laura flopped out of the bowl, looking at her tail with alarm. "Was that supposed to happen?"

"No." Morwen sniffed the air, turned quickly to the oven, and pulled out the souffle, now burnt. She sighed. "Mixing cooking and magic. Never a good idea."

"Is that why I have a fish tail?" asked Laura.

"Don't be an idiot," said Scorn.

"No, it isn't," said Morwen. As she stared at the souffle, she ran over every part of the spell. This should have been a straightforward disenchantment, the kind Morwen had been doing since she was a teenager. What had gone wrong, besides ruining her dinner?

"I think I'll have to make a call," she said at last, and stepped through the back door into her study.

When a knock came on the front door a few minutes later, Morwen was getting Laura balanced on a chair with a cup of cider and a wet towel draped over her tail to prevent it from drying out. "Come in," she called, and Telemain stepped inside.

His bright blue eyes focused on the fish-princess immediately. "How absolutely fascinating," he murmured, and crossed the room in a few long strides. He pulled a miniature telescope out of his pocket and began unfolding it.

"Good to see you, too," muttered Morwen.

It wasn't always easy being friends with Telemain. Depending on his mood—and, Morwen had to admit, her own—he could be endearing or aggravating beyond measure. The fact that she was attracted to him was something she'd come to accept as just that: a simple fact, which didn't happen to have much bearing on the situation.

Five years ago, while they'd been traveling with Cimorene to seek the King's Sword, Morwen had imagined that the end of their adventure might be a good time for her and Telemain to figure out whether they wanted to be more than friends. But then they'd returned to the Enchanted Forest to find Mendanbar trapped, the castle impenetrable, and Cimorene's unborn child their only hope of someday breaking the wizards' spell. Morwen's concerns over Cimorene and Daystar, and her commitment to guard the sword and keep watch over the castle, had overridden everything else.

Telemain did seem to be fond of Morwen in his own way, although he was as absent-minded in his affection as he was single-minded in his research. Sometimes when they met he would greet her with a long, warm hug, but other times he would plunge into a magical investigation without so much as a hello. Like today.

Finally he folded up the telescope and nodded decisively. "This person must be under the influence of a primary malicious enchantment, which formed a partial anchor for the stream's transformation." Telemain rubbed his beard. "And there's an extraordinary specificity to the primary enchantment, rendered visible in the exact corporeal partition."

"What?" said Laura.

Morwen turned to her. "Are you now, or have you ever been, cursed?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Have you had _any_ encounters with the kind of magic that partitions things in half?"

At this the girl jumped guiltily. She looked down at her mug. "I told you about the loan my father took out. The terms of default are pretty severe. The, um, the witch who loaned him the money technically owns half of everything in the kingdom."

"That's it!" said Telemain. "A prior magical lien on the form made no resistance to the initial enchantment because of its malicious nature, but—"

"I'd have done things quite differently if I'd known." Morwen gave Laura a stern look. "It's a good idea to tell someone _all_ your magical background when they're disenchanting you. You especially ought to have mentioned that your father's creditor is a witch."

She squirmed. "But you're a witch, too! I didn't know if I could trust you. You might have just been disenchanting me so that you could cook me up."

"That's absurd." Morwen shook her head. "Haven't you ever heard of a respectable witch?"

"I thought the good kind of witch wears bright colors. Or white. Right? You're all in black!"

"She has a point," said Telemain unexpectedly. "Your wardrobe is remarkably monotone."

Morwen glared at him. "If you think I'm going to take fashion advice from someone whose taste runs as gaudy as yours—"

"Gaudy?" Telemain looked offended. "What do you mean, gaudy?"

"The rings," said Scorn.

"The wall of fire around his tower," said Chaos.

"The mirror he gave Morwen," said Miss Eliza.

Morwen didn't voice any of these specifics to Telemain. "All I'm saying is that you and I have rather different styles."

"And all _I'm_ saying is that if you don't like being mistaken for a _wicked_ witch, there are certain changes you could make," said Telemain stiffly.

"Says the magician who's always being mistaken for a wizard but won't stop fooling around with their staffs," snapped Morwen.

"Wow," said Laura. "You two sound like my parents."

This caused both Morwen and Telemain to bite their tongues, but only Morwen had to listen to the amused commentary of her cats. She took a deep breath. "Let us set aside sartorial quibbles for the time being, and accept that I am not, in fact, a wicked witch. Is there any way to remove Laura's fish tail without having to address the lien on the entire kingdom?"

"I think so," said Telemain. "The interface between the primary obligation and the residual aquatic enchantment should be susceptible to . . ." He began pulling tools out of his pockets and muttering.

Laura made a small unhappy noise.

"What is it?" asked Morwen.

The princess looked at her and sighed. "I don't want to sound ungrateful. I'm really, really glad not to be a fish anymore, and I'd love to have my legs back right away. But _is_ there anything you can do about the, um, the lien?"

"I can't forgive a debt to another witch, if that's what you're wondering." Morwen looked at the girl over her glasses. "I'm sure your father was in a difficult situation, but there's really no excuse for striking such a bad bargain."

"Then do you know where I can find enough treasure to pay it off? I don't want to steal anything," she added in a hurry. "I'm willing to work for it. I'm good at a lot of things, even if I'm not very good at being a princess."

Morwen considered. As a general rule, any treasure in the Enchanted Forest was bound to cause far more trouble than it was worth. But outside the Enchanted Forest . . . "I think I know just the place for you," said Morwen with a smile. "How do you feel about dragons?"


	4. In Which Morwen Makes Tea

After sending the disenchanted princess to the Mountains of Morning with a letter of introduction, Morwen asked the cats to patrol the stream regularly. They found no more transformations, but over time the stream's lullabies turned to dirges. Morwen was relieved when it eventually changed course and flowed out of earshot from her garden.

Letters arrived every few months from Princess Laura of the Dragon Roxim. The old dragon had been delighted by the arrival on his doorstep of an earnest, hard-working princess, and rewarded her generously enough that in three years she had paid off her kingdom's debt. At first the creditor witch had been inclined to dispute this, but the arrival of a dragon with the final payment settled her doubts. Laura couldn't thank Morwen enough for recommending her to Roxim, and in fact the two of them got along so well that Laura decided to stay in the mountains. She'd gotten comfortable there, she wrote, and it was good for someone in her family to maintain steady employment.

Meanwhile, the cats grew older—slowly and gracefully, as witches' cats do, but inevitably. One day, when Daystar was getting close to eleven, Jasmine didn't wake up from her favorite sunny spot. In her final days, not one of the other cats had competed with her for the window, and they all gathered around and purred when Morwen buried the body in the garden.

Just a few days later, Trouble wandered off into the forest and didn't come back.

Without thinking too hard about why she was doing it, Morwen got on her broom and flew across the Enchanted Forest to a tower that was shorter on the outside than it was on the inside. The first stars winked open in the evening sky as she landed on a soft patch of moss.

She rapped on the door with the tip of her broom, then stepped back, prepared to wait as long as necessary and probably to repeat the knock several times. To keep her mind from dwelling on grief, she began to consider what spell might be most useful to get Telemain's attention, if an ordinary knock proved insufficient.

But the door flew open after a few seconds. Morwen raised an eyebrow. Telemain's beard was as tidy as ever, but the hair on the left side of his head stood straight up, and orange drips trailed from his shirt down to his boots. "Oh, hello Morwen!" he said vaguely. "You didn't call."

She raised her other eyebrow. "Am I unwelcome?"

"No, no, of course not. But I might have been away from home, or less readily interrupted."

Morwen almost laughed at the idea of a "readily interrupted" Telemain. "I'm capable of waiting," she told him. "I even brought a book."

She'd meant to keep a brave face on, but something about waiting reminded her of why she'd come, and tears sprang to her eyes. Surely Telemain couldn't see them through her glasses, in the dusk, but maybe there was a catch in her voice, too. In any case, his distraction disappeared and he frowned at her in concern. "Come in and tell me what's wrong."

Morwen stepped through the door. Telemain took the broom from her hand and rested it in a special nook on the wall that looked particularly suitable for brooms.

"First Jasmine, and now Trouble," was all she could get out before she started crying, and Telemain pulled her close without another word.

Morwen had called Telemain on the magic mirror when Jasmine died. She'd been calm, almost matter-of-fact, and they hadn't talked for long. But losing Trouble so soon afterward was too much.

"The other cats have all accepted that he's not coming back," she sniffed into Telemain's shirt. "I heard them talking this morning. Scorn says he probably rolled in a patch of poison violets and then convinced an ogre to eat him, just to give someone a terrible case of indigestion on his way out."

She felt Telemain's deep chuckle, and it eased the painful knot in her throat. "I'm sorry, Morwen," he said. He tried to stroke her hair, but couldn't quite manage it around the bun she always wore.

She pulled back a little, wiped her cheeks, then glanced down at her robe and saw that it had acquired the same pattern of drips that Telemain wore. "Are these orange streaks anything to be concerned about?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. The spell I was designing goes through an unfortunately colorful reaction, but it washes right out." He looked down at his own clothes. "At least, it should wash right out. I haven't tested that theory yet. Er, would you like some tea?"

Morwen looked at him. "Telemain, do you have any idea how to make tea?"

"It's elementary magic."

"Show me to your kitchen," she commanded. " _I_ will make tea. And to forestall any argument, yes, it would make me feel better to do it myself."

Telemain smiled. "I don't have a kitchen _per se_ , but I think I can supply the necessary components for your arcane ritual."

A few minutes later, a pot of water was coming to a boil over a brazier, and Morwen was washing a strainer _very_ thoroughly after Telemain had made some offhand reference to its last usage.

"Trouble was quite a cat," the magician commented, as he watched her work.

She blinked quickly. "I know he was never very nice to you—"

"He helped me recover from the worst spellshock I've ever suffered," Telemain pointed out. "I always felt that gave us a certain bond, even if he did leave half-eaten spiders into my pockets."

"From Trouble, that was positively a sign of affection," said Morwen, shaking her head as a few more tears trickled down her cheeks. She looked at Telemain. "Thank you."

He handed her the mugs that he'd been washing. "For what?"

"For remembering Trouble. For being 'readily interrupted' when I needed you." She looked at his face searchingly. For all that she knew him so well, sometimes he could still be inscrutable, and she wondered if he knew how he important he was to her.

"Yes, well." He cleared his throat. "You're welcome." Then he waved his hand, and a comfortable-looking sofa appeared against one wall. "We can sit down to drink our tea, if you like."

"That would be wonderful." She poured the tea, took one of the mugs, and settled onto the cushions.

Telemain shrugged off his vest before picking up the other mug. "I might as well get rid of this, so I don't sit on something important or accidentally jab you with one of the scopes."

Morwen so rarely saw Telemain without his vest—in fact, she couldn't remember the last time—that it felt strangely intimate to watch him hang it on the wall and sit beside her in his orange-stained shirt and leggings. Half of his hair was still standing up, so she reached over to smooth it down. Then she pulled the single pin out of her own hair, which released the spell keeping it up.

"I'd rather not jab you with anything either," she explained to Telemain's surprise, slipping the pin into her sleeve. Her hair fell around her shoulders, and as Telemain continued to stare at her, she wondered when he'd last seen it down. Probably that time he'd called on the mirror in the middle of the night to ask for an obscure reference, but she was pretty sure he hadn't even noticed the hour, much less anything about her physical appearance.

Right now, he was definitely noticing. She busied herself with drinking tea, and for a few minutes neither of them said anything. Then Telemain rested his arm around her shoulders. Morwen leaned against him.

"How are the, er, kittens?" he asked.

Morwen smiled. "Rambunctious. Delightful. Infuriating. Why?"

He coughed. "I can't just inquire about your kittens without having a reason?"

"They're not my kittens, they're Ivy's. And she won't let them forget it," said Morwen. "I was wondering what made you think of them at that moment."

She felt him take a deep breath, lifting her head on his chest. She thought about looking up at him, but she was so perfectly comfortable she didn't want to move. "I guess I thought you might need to get back to them soon."

"No, they'll be fine. If you're looking for an excuse to get rid of me—"

"I am not," said Telemain crossly. "Why must you always assume the worst of me?"

Morwen suppressed a laugh. "I suppose because you're adorable when you're nettled."

"Oh," he said, and they were both quiet for a while. Telemain ran his fingers through her hair, separating the strands. "You could stay the night, you know," he said softly.

She did raise her head then. Her expression must have alarmed him, because he added, "In one of the guest rooms, if you like. I added several after you pointed out that unexpected visitors are practically guaranteed in the Enchanted Forest, no matter what precautions I may take. And—"

"Telemain." Morwen touched his lips, and he stopped talking. "What if I didn't stay in a guest room?"

His blue eyes searched her hazel ones, and he smiled slowly. "Then I suppose the logical conclusion is that you would stay in my room. With me."

"I would like that," said Morwen.

"So would I," said Telemain, and he kissed her.


	5. In Which Telemain Rescues a Wizard and Discord Enters the Tower

Even in the Enchanted Forest, Telemain reflected, it was not every day that one stumbled across a battle between a wizard and an ogre. He settled in to watch from what he considered a safe distance and what he had to admit Morwen would call something else. Smiling at the thought of his witch, he extracted a tool from one of his pockets and began to take measurements.

It was only after the ogre howled in pain from a particularly well-aimed wizard's spell that Telemain realized his internal monologue had used the phrase _his witch_ , and the realization distracted him for several minutes. Although it had been well over a decade ago, he still remembered Morwen chastising Kazul for referring to Telemain as _her magician_. Of course, a great deal had changed since then, perhaps most notably the fact that Morwen had slept over at his tower several times in the last few years. But it was hardly a regular occurrence, and they'd never really discussed it. He supposed they were both too focused on the forest around them, which grew more restless every day. Ogres and nightshades roamed unchecked, and the Silverstaff elves were practically inviting wizards in. Telemain had melted a particularly troublesome one just last week. And now here was this new one—by far the most unusual wizard Telemain had ever seen.

He looked fairly young, with long straw-colored hair pulled into a neat ponytail and a beard that looked recently trimmed. Telemain got the impression that his robes had started the day clean and tidy, even if they were now rather the worse for facing off against an ogre. And he was shouting quite un-wizard-like sentiments: "I'm sorry! I don't want to hurt you! I just want to get through to the castle and talk to the dragons!"

Telemain began to consider intervening on the young wizard's behalf, but his readings suggested that the man was probably skilled enough to hold his own. Unless—

"That's done it," sighed Telemain, as the ogre tore the wizard's staff out of his hands and flung it far into the bushes. The wizard immediately clambered after it, and the ogre lurched forward to sink a mouthful of large, filthy teeth into his leg.

Even as the wizard's scream echoed through the woods, Telemain was twisting two of his rings and muttering, and a half-second later the ogre stood in paralyzed silence over a bleeding, sweating crumple of wizard.

Folding up his device, Telemain hurried forward. The wizard peered up at him. "Are you rescuing me or kidnapping me?"

"Let's discuss the nuances of the situation somewhere else," suggested Telemain, beginning to draw his transportation circle. "I'm afraid even the best immobility spell won't hold an ogre for long."

"Wait. My staff—"

"Is coming too, of course," Telemain answered with a note of impatience. "I am never careless with magical items."

The ogre and the surrounding trees blurred and faded, to be replaced by the central room of Telemain's tower.

"That's a nice—transportation spell," the wizard said, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Maybe you could—teach it to me. Where's my staff?"

"Somewhere safe," said Telemain. "You must be aware of all the trouble wizard staffs have caused in the Enchanted Forest? So you'll understand if I'm not eager to reunite you with it at once."

The man clutched his leg, where some kind of green pus had begun to bubble around the open wounds. "I don't want to cause any trouble," he gasped. "I just need a healing spell—"

"Yes, and I suspect you'll need more than whatever you've got stored in your staff." Ogre bites could be extremely unpleasant, and you never knew what particular strain of unpleasantness each ogre carried. "Which is why I'm going to make a quick call. I'll be right back."

When Morwen's familiar face appeared in the mirror, she looked piqued, and Telemain began trying to remember the last time they'd seen each other and whether he'd said anything about when he'd call again.

"Well?" she said.

Telemain sighed. No time for apologies now. "I've got a wizard with a nasty ogre bite here," he said. "I'd really like him to survive long enough to have a conversation."

She nodded briskly, irritation wiped away by the immediate need. He'd always appreciated her ability to focus on the task at hand. "Put some powdered slowstone on it. I'll get a few things and fly right over."

"I will," said Telemain, "and thank you," but the mirror was already blank.

With a quick detour to collect the slowstone, Telemain returned to the main room. "Hello again," the wizard said faintly. "Are you the King of the Enchanted Forest?"

"I am not." Telemain waved a hand to summon some chairs, and helped the wizard into one of them. "Why would you think that?"

"I know he's disappeared. Some people say he's in hiding, maybe wandering in disguise. And you seem very familiar with the forest. You stopped that ogre, and you transported me here. Is that slowstone?"

"Yes," said Telemain as he sprinkled it onto the wound. "I'm familiar with the forest because I've lived here for quite a while. My name is Telemain, and I am a magician." He looked at the wizard very seriously. "Although I am not the King, I follow the King's Sword, and I am entirely capable of thwarting you if you mean it or him any harm."

"Oh, no, no I don't. I'm Cedric, by the way." The slowstone seemed to have slowed the pain, as well, as the wizard was sitting up straighter and looking almost cheerful. "I suppose I could say that I follow the King's Sword, too. Ever since I heard about the great battle at the castle, I was determined that as soon as I finished my staff, I'd come into the forest and see if I could help free the King."

"Really," said Telemain skeptically.

"Really," insisted the wizard.

A sharp rap on the door prevented Telemain from asking any of the hundred questions that sprang to mind. "That's Morwen," he said, crossing the room to let her in. She handed him her broom and started to brush past him, but Telemain caught her wrist. In a low voice, he told her, "This wizard Cedric says he's on the King's side, and he may be genuine. Still, you'd better watch him until we know more. His staff is elsewhere, but he may have some spells up his sleeve."

"Do you imagine I wouldn't have thought of that?" Morwen gave him a scalding look and shook off his hand. Telemain winced. She was definitely annoyed with him.

"Let's see that bite, Cedric," said Morwen, and the wizard obediently extended his leg. Kneeling beside him, the witch made a careful inspection, then began to unpack herbs and bandages from her sleeves.

Telemain sat in one of the other chairs and wondered why it felt so strange to watch Morwen caring for Cedric's wound. He knew that she did this sort of thing quite often. In fact, she'd done it for Telemain on numerous occasions.

And that was it, he realized. He was used to being the one who got to feel the witch's cool hands on his skin, to listen to her calm murmurs (and sometimes sharp reprimands) and feel the pain fade away under her ministration. He knew she worked healing magic on all kinds of people, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy watching her do it for this young wizard. And he especially didn't have to enjoy the way Cedric was looking at Morwen while she did it.

"You're the most beautiful witch I've ever seen," the wizard blurted out at last, then turned red.

Telemain scowled, although he knew it was ridiculous to think he might have had a monopoly on that particular observation. At least he could look forward to a caustic reply from Morwen.

She just met Cedric's eyes and smiled. "Well, you're the first wizard I've met who appears to make regular use of a comb."

It wasn't much of a compliment, but Cedric blushed even brighter. "My grandfather used to say that magic should never be an excuse for sloppiness."

"I couldn't agree more," said Morwen. She finished tying the bandage and stood up. "You'd better stay in one of Telemain's guest rooms for a day or two while that heals. Or if he's too busy to bother with you—he's often too busy to bother with people—you can come and stay with me."

Cedric stammered, "That would be—"

"He can stay here," Telemain interrupted sharply. "I'm sure he won't want to be far from his staff. And Morwen, I haven't been too—"

"That's fine," Morwen interrupted right back. "Cedric, make sure you don't put any weight on that leg for the rest of the day. Now suppose you explain who you are, and what you're doing in the Enchanted Forest? And if Telemain had the _least_ sense of hospitality, he would make us some tea."

Telemain glared at Morwen, made a pass with his hands and clapped three times. A small table appeared between their chairs, bearing a tray with a steaming teapot and three cups and saucers. Morwen poured a cup, then waited.

With a sigh, Telemain waved his hand. A sugar bowl and creamer appeared on the table. "Sloppy," Morwen murmured, then turned to Cedric. "How do you take it?"

"Sugar, no cream, please. That's very kind."

Morwen brought him the tea and fixed a cup for herself while he began to talk. "I guess it starts with my grandfather. He was a great wizard, used to be in the Society. But he didn't like the direction it was going, thought they should be more respectful to the dragons. When Zemenar became Head Wizard, my grandfather decided to leave the Society and go his own way. None of his kids went in for wizarding, although my mother studied with a witch for a while. I always wanted to be like my grandfather, though. So I went to the Brown Forest to learn everything I could, keeping it quiet that I was on the dragons' side. Finished my training a few years ago, and I've been working on my staff ever since." He looked plaintively at Telemain. "I would _really_ like it back."

"Duly noted," said the magician. "What, exactly, do you hope to do now that you're here in the Enchanted Forest?"

"I thought I'd try to take down the shield the Society left around the castle," he said earnestly.

Telemain snorted. "Impossible. I studied it for months, and the best I could do was help the dragons replicate the spell. Disassembly of the original is entirely contingent on the sword."

"All right, but what's the harm in letting me try? At least let me talk to the dragons about it!"

"Your enthusiasm does you credit," Morwen broke in. "But you'll give them an allergy attack, and they'll probably eat you."

"Actually," said Telemain, an idea beginning to form in his mind, "we might be able to prevent the allergy attack, so they can get on with the eating."

"Telemain!" said Morwen sharply.

He stroked his beard, already absorbed in thought. "It ought to be possible to develop a hypoallergenic staff by constructing a type of semi-permeable shield, opaque to magical inflow to negate the absorptive properties, but transparent to outflow to permit the unobstructed use—"

"What?" said Cedric.

"Stop trying to show off your intelligence and talk like a regular person," snapped Morwen.

He blinked at her, stung. "I am not trying—"

"Sorry, Cedric, he's been like this as long as I've known him. He just means to set up a shield around your staff so it can't absorb magic and trigger the dragons' allergies, but you can still use the spells stored in it. And I'm sure he'll want to get started on it right away, so I'll get out of his way." She stood up and rested her hand against Cedric's forehead. "Good. The poison's not spreading. I'll come back tomorrow to check on you."

Telemain looked up at Morwen and frowned. He'd been hoping she would work with him on the shield. "You don't need to get—"

"I'm busy, too, Telemain. I'll see you tomorrow."


	6. In Which the Discord Escalates to a Veritable Quarrel

Morwen returned to the tower the next day with fresh gingerbread and an improved temper. She had decided while baking that there was no point in staying cross at Telemain. He probably didn't even remember their plans to meet at the Green Glass Pool last week, and for all she knew he might have been distracted by something genuinely troubling, like the Darkmorning elf that Chaos and Quiz had recently caught snooping around Morwen's garden with an entire entourage of digging gnomes. That had taken the better part of three days to clean up.

So Morwen decided she wouldn't even mention it, and she came in the door with a friendly smile. Telemain was nowhere to be seen, but Cedric jumped up to greet her. "Morwen! My leg is feeling much better. What did you bring? It smells amazing!"

"Gingerbread," said Morwen. She handed him the basket. "Have a piece while I change the bandage."

Cedric munched away while Morwen removed the old poultice and applied a new one. She gave it a satisfied nod. "You can take this off tomorrow and leave it open to the air. Sunshine's the best thing for clearing up the last traces of an ogre bite."

"Thank you. Really, Morwen, thank you so much." He looked at her too happily.

She shrugged. "It's what I do. One of many things, anyway."

"I have another favor to ask, if I may?" Morwen nodded, and he went on. "Telemain said he could transport me to the Mountains of Morning, but then he added that you might be a better person to introduce me to the dragons if I really don't want to get eaten."

Morwen suppressed a smile. That was typical of the scrupulous Telemain, and she respected him for it. "I can fly you over there, if you don't mind riding a broomstick."

"I don't mind at all. I've always wanted to try, in fact."

And he was wearing robes, so Morwen wouldn't even have to persuade him to ride sidesaddle. "All right. When you do want to go?"

"As soon as Telemain's done with my staff, I guess, if that's all right with you."

"Is he working on it right now?" Morwen lifted an eyebrow. "And you're not watching?"

"I wanted to. It is my staff, after all!" Cedric looked indignant. "But Telemain insisted on being left alone, and, well, he's a bit intimidating. Um. I don't suppose you could talk to him?"

"I'd be glad to. Bring the gingerbread," she said, and they headed upstairs.

Morwen pushed open the door to Telemain's study to find him hunched over the wizard's staff, surrounded by instruments, dials, and dishes of oddly colored liquid. "Telemain, I've brought gingerbread. Why don't you let the poor wizard watch you work?"

"Because he keeps asking questions," grumbled Telemain, without looking up. "And then he interrupts my answers to say 'What?' all the time. It's extremely difficult to concentrate with that sort of thing going on. And I thought he wanted the staff finished as soon as possible, so I sent him away in the interests of expediency."

Morwen sighed. She could see Telemain's point, even if he was being less than gracious about it. "Well, how much longer do you think it will take?"

"An hour, if I am left alone," he said pointedly.

"All right." Morwen turned to Cedric. "Come on, let's go for a walk."

The wizard considered the basket in his hand. "Should we leave him some gingerbread?"

"Let him eat his research," said Morwen impatiently. "And make love to it too."

Cedric let out a surprised laugh, which he quickly covered with his hand, and Morwen saw Telemain's back stiffen. Her heart sank at once. She was used to needling him over his obsessive tendencies, but that had been a step too far.

The kindest thing she could do now, though, was to let him work in peace. So she took Cedric outside and showed him around the forest, telling herself that Telemain had probably already forgotten her unfortunate comment. She pointed out to Cedric the dimpled patches of moss where poison violets would bloom later in the year, and he was so appreciative that she began looking for other things to show him. Together they found an abandoned death bird nest in a nearby tree.

When Telemain joined them exactly one hour later, she could see at once that he hadn't forgotten. His normally bright blue eyes were brooding, and he didn't look at Morwen. "Here's your staff, Cedric. All its prior magical content remains accessible, but the shield will prevent it from accepting input. You can deactivate and reactivate it with the same word, _rishmorkel_."

Cedric took the staff and practiced turning the shield off and on, nodding when he saw how smoothly it worked. He started to thank Telemain, but the magician brushed him off. "Good luck with the dragons," he said, and went abruptly back inside.

"Wait here," Morwen told Cedric. She hurried after Telemain. As soon as the door closed behind them, she said, "I'm sorry, Telemain. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just didn't think—"

"You just didn't think I had any."

She'd never expected to hear his voice so bitter, and it cut deeply. "You've never _told_ me about them," she pointed out.

He didn't say anything for a few long seconds. Then, very quietly, he said, "I didn't think I needed to."

Morwen thought that was incredibly foolish, but she bit down on the sharp reply that sprang to her lips. She'd seen Telemain puzzled, irritated, miffed. In fact, miffing Telemain was one of her favorite hobbies. But she'd never seen him so upset. Even in the wake of the wizards' attack on the castle, he'd provided the only calm voice as he helped everyone organize their thoughts and plans.

Now he was angry. And hurt. And for all that Morwen knew about mending nearly any mundane or magical injury, she didn't know how to fix this. There was no spell to make it better, no poultice to apply or couplet to recite.

"Telemain, I'm sorry," she said again.

There was a tap on the door, and Cedric's voice floated through. "Morwen? Are you ready?"

"Go take your wizard to the dragons," said Telemain. "Be sure to tell him about the time I tried to ride your broom. That'll really make him laugh."

Before Morwen could answer, he twisted a ring and disappeared.


	7. In Which a Cat Visits and a Call is Made

The scratching at the tower door was gentle but insistent. After assuming for half an hour that it was a squirrel or lizard that would eventually lose interest and scurry away, Telemain set aside his notes and went downstairs to open the door.

To his surprise, a sturdy black cat with white socks and a white patch on her face pushed through and wound around his ankles. "Well, hello," he said. He closed the door, since the cat looked like she planned to stay for a while. "I suppose you'd like some cream."

The cat strolled across the room and mewed in a casual way that Telemain took to mean she hadn't really come for cream, but wouldn't object if a saucer were to appear in front of her. He waved his hand, the saucer appeared, and the cat circled it once before crouching down to drink.

Telemain could have summoned a chair, but he just sat on the floor near the cat. "Ivy, isn't it? What are you doing here?"

He couldn't always keep Morwen's cats straight, depending on how recently one of them had had kittens, and he hadn't seen any of them—or Morwen herself, for that matter—since she'd flown off with that wizard nearly two years ago. Still, he remembered Ivy. She was Scorn's daughter, and right from the beginning she'd liked to irritate her mother by being extra friendly to Telemain. But not even Ivy had ever come to his tower before.

Suddenly he thought of the most obvious reason why one of Morwen's cats might come looking for him, and he leaned forward in alarm. "Is Morwen in trouble?"

Ivy took a few more laps and then turned to look at him with her eyes half-shut. Then she went back to drinking. Telemain had to laugh. "That _was_ silly of me. Of course you wouldn't be sitting there calmly drinking cream if she needed help."

The cat swished her tail and flicked her ears in what Telemain thought might be a pleased gesture. He wondered what she knew or guessed about his relationship with Morwen. Probably not much. He remembered asking Morwen after their first night together, "Are you going to tell the cats?"

Morwen had sniffed. "They don't tell me about their nocturnal misadventures."

And Telemain had laughed, although in his heart he knew he wanted to be more than a misadventure to Morwen. He just hadn't been able to the find the right words to say so.

Now he watched Ivy clean up the last drops of cream, and one more thought occurred to him. "Did Morwen send you?"

The look the cat gave him this time was even more contemptuous than the first one, and Telemain sighed. "All right, I'm sorry. I'll stop trying to guess why you're here. Thank you for coming. I do get a bit lonely sometimes."

At that, Ivy jumped into his lap with a satisfied little purr-meow, and began kneading his thigh with her paws. He stroked the top of her head, then scratched her chin. She flopped down on her side and stretched.

"Another litter, Ivy?" asked Telemain in surprise, running his hand over her belly. She purred more loudly. "Well, congratulations. With Chaos again?"

She flicked her ears back and gave him a baleful look. "You're right, of course," he said quickly. "It's none of my business."

Telemain and Morwen had once starting working on ideas for a universal cat-translation spell, but none of the avenues they investigated seemed promising, and as other concerns crowded in they dropped it. Now, looking at Ivy in his lap, Telemain wondered if he might have begun to develop a very slight understanding of cat speech without even noticing it.

"That would be rather witchy of me," he mused aloud. And he thought, for the umpteenth time since he and Morwen had parted ways, of calling her. But he didn't, not until several months later, when the Sword of the Sleeping King itself showed up on his doorstep.

* * *

Everything in the Enchanted Forest seemed fragile and uncertain, hopeful and confused. So Morwen supposed it was appropriate that her heart should feel the same way. She looked at Telemain's face in the magic mirror, and realized how much she had missed it over the last two years.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

"Tell you what?" she asked cautiously. There were any number of things she hadn't told Telemain, for an equally diverse number of reasons, from the exact location of the invisible dusk-blooming chokevines in her garden to the fact that she was in love with him.

"That the war is beginning again!"

"Oh." Morwen shrugged. "It seemed likely that you'd figure it out for yourself."

"Well, yes, but some warning would have been nice. Now I've got Daystar downstairs with the sword, a fire-witch, a kitten, and a dragon." He scowled. "Of course, you already know all about them."

"The dragon is news, actually," said Morwen. "Who is it?"

"It's a young one."

"Oh, I see." The witch thought for a moment. "I bet I can guess which one, too."

"In any case, I've had a look around, and their path from here to the castle is crawling with wizards. So I'm going to send them through the Caves of Chance."

He paused and looked unhappily at Morwen. She wondered if he was expecting her to make a critical remark. "That's a good idea," she said.

"Thank you. I thought so too." He looked somewhat less unhappy. "Meanwhile, I'll get ready for battle and make my own way to the castle. It will be very good to see Mendanbar again, if this all works out."

"And Cimorene, I hope," said Morwen. She found herself wishing she could reach through the mirror and touch Telemain. "I'll be there too, of course."

"Good. That's good." He stroked his beard, then asked out of the blue, "Is the kitten one of Ivy's?"

"Yes," said Morwen, surprised not only that he'd guessed correctly but that he would even think to guess about such a thing.

"I thought so," said Telemain, and on that supremely unsatisfying note, the mirror went blank. Morwen stared at it for a moment, then shook her head and began to gather supplies. There was a great deal to do if she wanted to be of any use in the battle.


	8. In Which They Finally Settle the Matter

Freed from its sixteen-year enchantment, no longer entombed in silence and dust, the castle near the center of the Enchanted Forest had become a swarming, chattering hive of activity. Dragons, elves and dwarfs were busy cleaning up, tending to the injured, and arguing over how to handle the defeated wizards and their allies. The royal family, reunited at last, had a great deal of catching up to do. And the royal kitchen had a feast to prepare.

Tucked away from all the noise was a quiet room in one of the castle towers. Decorated in muted earth tones, the room held a bed, a table, a lamp, and a large window with an unusual shape like a half-melted hexagon. The view of the forest through the window was lovely, but difficult to focus on through its peculiar frame.

"I wonder if that window was an accident," mused Telemain from the bed, where he lay flat on his back, his face still rather pale. "And what whoever constructed it was hoping to accomplish."

"I don't know," Morwen answered distractedly, her face creased with worry. She rubbed a sprig of lemon balm between her palms and then tucked it into the bandage around Telemain's right shoulder.

He tried to crane his head to see it, then grunted in pain. "What's that for?"

She frowned at him. It was a mercy that the wizard's sword hadn't taken off his head, but it had still left a serious wound. She wanted him to stop asking questions and lie still so the healing could begin. "It will help you rest."

"What if I don't want to rest?" Telemain touched Morwen's hand and managed a faint grin. "A firm bed can be useful for many things."

"Don't even think about it," said Morwen, her cheeks coloring. "Not in your condition."

"Too late," he said. "I'm thinking about it."

"Telemain, you can't move."

"I thought I'd just lie here very quietly, while you—"

"Telemain, _no_." But Morwen was smiling now, instead of scowling in concern, and she realized that was all Telemain had really wanted. He smiled, too, and closed his eyes. She touched his cheek. "You rest for now. I'll be back to check on you."

The first time Morwen came back, Telemain was actually asleep, for which she was immensely grateful. So she didn't return again until the feast had begun, and she could bring some food—and there he was, trying to sit up.

"Stop that!" she said, hurrying to the bedside.

"I won't," he said crossly. "I'm tired of lying down. But I will allow you to help me sit up."

With a sigh, Morwen set down the plate of food and tucked pillows around Telemain until she was satisfied that his position wouldn't put any additional strain on the shoulder.

Telemain took a roll of bread. "So may I surmise that the war is won, and everything turned out as well as we could have hoped?"

"Yes," said Morwen. "Although Antorell did try to make trouble one last time. He summoned a demon. So Daystar sent the demon and Antorell both back where it came from."

Telemain nodded in approval. "He's a talented young man."

Morwen smiled. "Cimorene and Mendanbar are obviously very proud of him, though they're not the sort to come right out and say it."

"They must be ecstatic to be reunited."

"I can hardly imagine," said Morwen. At the head of the table, she had noticed Cimorene sit on Mendanbar's left side so he could eat without having to let go of her hand. "Just looking at them makes me feel like I've been holding my breath for sixteen years, and finally let it out."

"I feel like I'm still holding mine. Morwen—" Telemain reached out with his good hand, and Morwen slid hers into it, looking at him with concern.

"It could be a side effect of some of the herbs. If you'll just lie back down—"

"That's not what I meant." He tightened his grip. "How—how did the rest of the battle go? Kazul must be all right, or you'd have told me. What about Brandel and his family? Was Cedric there?"

"Look at you, asking about people instead of spells," Morwen teased, but gently. "The fire-witches are all fine. The dragons, too. A couple of their more adventurous princesses came along, including Laura, who's apparently added sword-fighting to her practical set of skills."

"Laura?" Telemain wrinkled his brow, trying to remember.

"The fish princess," Morwen prompted, and considered mentioning that she'd seen Laura and Cedric sitting close together at the feast. She decided not to spread rumors, and went on answering Telemain's questions. "Yes, Cedric joined in the battle. He fought alongside the dragons, and did very well, too."

Telemain grimaced. "I suppose he managed not to get stabbed with a sword."

"Correct. But somehow, inexplicably, you're still the man that I love."

The magician blinked, looked down at their entwined fingers, and back up at Morwen's face. "I don't believe you've ever told me that before."

"No. That was a mistake." She took a deep breath. "I am sorry, Telemain. I was very unfair to you. I complained that you never told me how you felt, when I was guilty of the same thing. I think some part of me couldn't bear to look for happiness in love while Cimorene and Mendanbar were separated. Although Cimorene would have been the first person to tell me how absurd that was."

"And you would have been the second," Telemain pointed out. "You give such excellent advice to everyone else. Don't you ever try it on yourself?"

"In most cases, I do. But you never said anything either, and after enough years of that, I managed to push it to the back of my mind."

"The two of us have always been so independent," said Telemain slowly. "I'd convinced myself that must be how you wanted it."

"Is that how _you_ wanted it?" asked Morwen.

"Maybe it was once, but not anymore." Telemain's gaze turned almost fierce. "Morwen, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts, and I'm sure you'll tell me that's just the shoulder, too, and I ought to lie down, but I need to know this first. Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she said, leaning forward to kiss him. "Yes," she said again, kissing him harder. Then Telemain tried to put his arms around her, but Morwen made him stop, and began fishing around in her sleeves for extra fabric to make a sling.

* * *

Telemain blinked himself awake to see Morwen nestled in the sheets, breathing softly, waves of copper hair splayed over her pillow. It was a beautiful sight, but he didn't have very long to enjoy it, because someone was pawing at his face.

"Morwen?" he said. "I think your cats are hungry."

"So feed them," she answered, her eyes still closed. "What do you think I married you for?"

He laughed, but he also got up. "I don't know where their food is."

"They'll show you," said Morwen sleepily.

Telemain pulled on his pants and began to think about enchanting cat food bowls to fill themselves with specified quantities at specified times. The cats started herding him through the door. "Telemain?" called Morwen.

He turned to look back at her. Her eyes were open now, and sparkling. "Come back to bed afterward."

"Of course." He grinned. "After all, what do you think _I_ married _you_ for?"

They might have continued gazing at each other for quite some time, but a paw on Telemain's foot delicately extended its claws. He walked into the kitchen, muttering, "It should be a straightforward application of a chronologically activated transportation . . ."


End file.
